Night and Fog
by Madison Dyann
Summary: A German nurse hiding family secrets, Valeria breaks with the fatherland and aides the Dutch Resistance. Then planes flew over Eindhoven.


**Hey, y'all! This is my first BoB fanfic and I'm not quite sure where I'm going with it but it's winters break and I have free time so I thought I'd write something. Thanks! :)**

* * *

The SS officer tightened his hold around her throat, momentarily distracting her from the gunshot wound. She had managed to knock the gun away but not before a bullet cut across her side, just above her right hip. Now, the two Germans were struggling on the floor of a Dutch apartment, each trying to get the upper hand. Valeria was fighting for her life; the officer was fighting to take it from her. Meanwhile, a Dutch celebration was beginning outside.

It had been a few hours since the Americans had parachuted into Holland but they had yet to reach the small city of Eindhoven, giving the German army time to retreat to a better position. As the last truck left moved out, the SS officer had tried to arrest Valeria which had quickly turned into a impromptu execution when she put up a struggle. Fortunately, the boy, that's what he looked like to her, had been a bad shot. But that didn't prevent him from knocking her to the floor and start to strangle her. Valeria could hear nothing but the sound of her heartbeat echoing in her ears while the man - boy - squeezed the air and life from her body.

Having collaborated with the Dutch Resistance for nearly two years now, Valeria expected this moment to happen. She just hadn't expected it to occur in the middle of an Allied invasion. She also knew that killing her wasn't protocol. All resistance members and their collaborators were to be taken alive and given over to the Gestapo. But perhaps the officer, who she recognized as one of the new replacements who had arrived from Germany less than a month before hand, wasn't quite aware of the Nazi policy. Or maybe she wasn't being arrested for treason. _No_ , she thought, her lungs screaming for air. She has gone to great lengthens and had spent years covering up _that_ crime. No, somehow the Germans had discovered that she been giving aide to the Dutch and they had sent an overly eager young officer to deal with her.

Either way, it didn't matter. Because Valeria was certain the man was going to strangle her to death. Then the door burst open.

Two shots rang out and the pressure on Valeria's throat disappeared. A coughing fit ensued as her body tried to force air back into her lungs as the body of the dead officer collapsed to the floor next to her. Valeria turned her watering eyes to his body. He had been shot in the back of the head but his face was still looking murderously at her, though his eyes had gone dark. She stared into his blue eyes, the same color as her own. Blood dripped from the wound in his head to the floor where it mixed with Valeria's own, soaking into her clothes and staining her skin.

Hands shaking her pulled her attention away from the man's body. Pain erupted in her side from the sudden movement causing Valeria to scream. She focused her eyes to the space above her and she saw a man standing there. She didn't recognize him, but she did know what the orange armband represented. He was a member of the Dutch Resistance, now empowered by the German retreat from Eindhoven. He was a short brown haired man; his mouth was moving quickly and it was clear he was yelling at her, but she couldn't hear him over the ringing in her ears. Bored with her deafness and the man standing above her, Valeria moved her eyes back to her officer's body and looked at his face. He could have been her brother, if she hadn't been an only child. He had the same blue eyes as Valeria, through hers were still alive and paler in color. She could see blonde under his helmet, a few shades darker and shorter than Valeria's own. The similarities stopped with their chins, which were both slightly pointed. Whereas his nose was round, Valeria's had inherited the long, angular nose from her mother. In regards to her appearance, it was the only thing she got from her mother's side of the family.

Blood had began to soak into her the man's dark grey uniform. She noticed that blood had splatter across the imperial eagle stitched above the right breast pocket, turning the usually white swastika red. She remembered that the SS had always taken such special care when it came to their uniforms; all Nazis did. She could tell the man was proud to wear that uniform. Valeria took a bit of pride in the possibility that it was her blood that was now slowly ruining the wool fabric that was a symbol of what the man had died for.

Her thoughts were interrupted when hands began to pull her upwards, with no regards for her injured side. Valeria clenched her teeth to keep from screaming again as the Dutchman pulled her to her feet. She gave no resistance as the man dragged her from the small apartment she had once called a temporary home, and into the street. He marched Valeria down a couple of blocks before pulling her into a house. She was moved quickly into a small kitchen where a small, elderly lady stood over a stove and Valeria was forced down into a wooden chair. The man pointed a finger at her, said something in Dutch before turning around and walking back out, leaving her with the old woman and a young boy who carried a rifle across his back.

* * *

Dick Winters was in the middle of discussing bridges with the Dutch Resistance leader when a man, also with an orange armband, politely but anxiously interrupted. He spoke quickly in Dutch, pointing down the street. When Dick's eyes fell on the blood smeared on his hands and shirt, the uneasiness in his stomach grew. When the two were finished speaking, the leader turned back towards the Americans. "There's a woman. A German woman who's been helping us," he explained, nodding in the direction the other man had pointed. "The Germans tried to kill her right when your planes flew over. You should talk to her. She should be helpful."

Dick exchanged a look with Lew and Harry, both of whom had raised eyebrows. But they followed the Dutch leader nonetheless.

* * *

Only a few minutes had passed since Valeria was all but carried into the kitchen. The only help she was given for her bullet wound was a dish towel to press against the bleeding. She couldn't even get a good look at it; it was too far to the back for Valeria to see without twisting in pain. She needed to stop the bleeding; the flower embroidered cloth had quickly absorbed its capacity, rendering it useless. But the old woman had abandoned her home for the celebration outside and boy with the gun appeared to be more of a guard than a helping hand. She could feel her body going numb from the blood loss, blood that had stained her white blouse red. Tired, Valeria had resigned to watching her blood drip onto the tiled floor when she heard footsteps enter the kitchen.

In the lead was a Dutchman she did recognize. Mr. Van Kooijk had been the man she passed information to for nearly the two years, though they still didn't particularly like each other. He wore a proud smirk on his face that bordered on arrogance. But the woman's attention was quickly drawn to those standing behind him. There were three of them, dressed in dark green uniforms complete with guns and helmets. The small flags of red, white and blue stitched onto their shoulders confirmed that they were American.

The three soldiers exchanged looks with each other, clearly confused by what they saw. One of men stepped forward while van Kooijk followed and removed his helmet, revealing his red hair underneath. With her arm growing heavy, Valeria removed the cloth from her wound and tossed the bloody thing onto the nearby kitchen table. Nearly the entirety of her white blouse was now covered in blood. Her hands were bloody as well and Valeria was having difficulty keeping them from trembling. Her blonde hair had fallen out of its bun and strands now clanged to her face with sweat and blood. And though she couldn't see it, judging by the soreness of her throat she was sure she had bruising around her neck from where the officer had choked her. Valeria was a mess.

"What do you want?" She asked the Dutchman in German, not really interested in talking.

"Information, as usual." He responded. Valeria looked from him to the Americans, suddenly hating her original decision to help.

She nodded towards her wound and muttered, "I'm a too little busy dying to talk."

"Harry, go find Webster or Liebgott. Someone who speaks German." The redheaded American said to the shorter man who stood behind him.

Valeria shook her head before finding her voice. "I speak better English than your men speak German. I'll help you but I also have a bullet wound that needs looking at."

* * *

The half-dead girl had sung like a canary, giving up everything from the number of troops and tanks to their intended destination. And in nearly perfect English. She had given them concrete answers to all their questions and had barely flinched when Doc started poking around her wound. When he tried to give her morphine before stitching her skin back together, she had refused. Instead, she was eyeing a bottle wine that rested atop a shelf on the opposite wall.

"Can you stand?" Roe asked a moment later. "It'll go faster than way." Annoyance crept into her face and Lewis Nixon couldn't help but grin. Nonetheless, she put a shaky hand on the table and pushed herself up. Nixon looked around the kitchen. Harry and Dick had left to see to the rest of Easy Company and alert the British about the newly gained intelligence and Mr. von Kooijk had departed as well, leaving just him and Roe alone with the German woman. When he saw the woman begin to sway on her feet, Nixon grabbed the bottle of wine off the shelf and crossed the room to where she stood precariously and handed it to her.

Her blue eyes looked at him suspiciously but she took the bottle and tossed the cork on the table. Despite having poured out numerous secrets that would certainly lead to the death of more than a few of her countrymen, the woman didn't trust them. And judging by the looks she gave the Dutch, she didn't trust nor like them either. Using one hand to hold up her blouse high enough so Roe could work and using the other to bring the wine to her lips, she took a decent sized swig. When she began to sway again, Nixon put a hand on her elbow to steady her. Again, she looked at him with unfriendly eyes. The color blue had never looked so hostile.

"Are you a nurse?" He asked, deciding to break the silence. She nodded before taking another drink. "Since when do Germans put women on the front lines?"

With another look, she answered. "It wasn't a front line when I got here," she pointed out. "I was part of an occupation force. You're the ones who decided to jump out of airplanes and into enemy territory."

Nixon let out a quiet laugh at that, and some of the serious appeared to leave her face. "What's your name?" He asked finally.

"Valeria Königsmann." She answered, looking down at Roe instead of at him. The medic was wrapping a bandage around her waist now. Nixon took the opportunity to look her over.

She was a bit tall for a woman, reaching the same height as himself. He looked down to see that an extra couple of inches were due to the black leather boots she wore. Tucked into them were a pair of black trousers followed by a now bloody white blouse. The only jewelry she wore was a thin gold band on her ring finger. Her hair, which was also stained with blood, was a pale blonde color and fell to the middle of her back. She had small breasts and thick thighs that gave her an athletic look. Just from holding her elbow, Nixon could feel how firm her arm was and he was sure she could throw a good punch if she felt the need.

When Roe was finished he gave the usual speech about taking it easy for a few days and Valeria nodded in agreement and said her thank you.

"Is all of that your blood?" Nixon asked as she lowered her shirt to cover her wound. She shook her head but didn't elaborate. "I'm Captain Lewis Nixon, by the way." He offered his hand and she shook it but the suspicious look had returned.

Putting the cork back in the bottle, she set the wine gently on the table, almost reluctantly. "Well, Captain Nixon. What's next?"

He let go of her elbow and took a step back. "Can you walk?" She nodded. "Then follow me."

"Where are going?"

"Somewhere more secure than a stranger's kitchen."


End file.
